But there be that flower's meek regret,
The bending and dark blue Violet—
when we read such passages as this, it is our duty to speak in terms of rebuke and repudiation. There is an evil spirit in such sentiments which should be bidden behind us. Why should we reject the blooming and beautiful, and cling after this poor fashion to the sad and sorrowful? It is false philosophy, we may be sure. Violets, indeed! Why, what were roses made for? To be slighted and contemned and despised, as it were, like this? Oh, no, no! Roses were made to gladden and delight us, and give us ideas of beauty and hope: nay, more than this, to make us grateful to the Giver of all good besides.
Here is another instance of our fair author's tendency to look upon the dark side of life. In a little poem entitled Change she thus writes:
And this is what is left of youth!
There were two boys, who were bred up together,
Shared the same bed, and fed at the same board.
Each tried the other's sport, from their first chase,
Young hunters of the butterfly and bee,
To when they followed the fleet hare, and tried
The swiftness of the bird. They lay beside
The silver trout stream, watching as the sun
Play'd on the bubbles: Shared each in the store
Of either's garden; and together read
Of him, the master of the desert isle,
Till a low hut, a gun and a canoe
Bounded their wishes. Or if ever came
A thought of future days, 't was but to say
That they would share each other's lot, and do
Wonders, no doubt. But this was vain; they parted
With promises of long remembrance, words
Whose kindness was the heart's, and those warm tears,
Hidden like shame by the young eyes that shed them,
But which are thought upon in after years
As what we would give worlds to shed once more.
